


Encounter x Jacket x Snow

by guardiansofthefantasy



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - My Hero Academia, Gen, I Finished This Instead Of Sleeping, M/M, Meet-Cute, Not Beta Read, Rated T for language, Sing is a little shit, Sort of Crossover, alternative title: Sing thinking about how pretty Yut-Lung is for almost 7k words straight, although i don't really remember if it's really that bad, i guess?, meeting a random stranger on the platform, there's no knowledge needed tho, winter vibes, you can treat this as a simple au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardiansofthefantasy/pseuds/guardiansofthefantasy
Summary: Sing put his feet up on the seat next to Pretty Boy and leaned back.“Don't you have manners?,” the other asked, looking at Sing like he's a heathen.Sing grinned at him. “No.”“You're the worst,” Pretty Boy stated, crossing his legs.“I'm well aware. I find people think it's charming,” he shrugged.“Well, it's not.”-X-AU in which Sing meets a freezing stranger on the platform as he's waiting for his train and offers his jacket. They spend the train ride together. Set in the my hero academia world, but no knowledge is required to understand the story!
Relationships: Lee Yut-Lung & Sing Soo-Ling, Minor Lee Yut-Lung/Sing Soo-Ling - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	Encounter x Jacket x Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Livesinbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livesinbooks/gifts).
  * Inspired by [How Greed accidentally adopts a bunch of future heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935904) by [Livesinbooks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livesinbooks/pseuds/Livesinbooks). 



> This was based on my dear friend Ella' FMAB x BNHA crossover ["How Greed accidentally adopts a bunch of future heroes"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25935904/chapters/63039670) and is actually a (kinda late, sorry!) birthday present!
> 
> Don't worry, you don't need to have read the fanfiction or know anything about Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood or Boku No Hero Academia to read this Oneshot! All you need to know is that this is basically an AU set in the BNHA world but it only mentions quirks and vigilantes at the side.
> 
> (For those of you who do read Ella's fic, or came from there: this is set during chapter 55/56 and post-fic, but it doesn't have any (major) spoilers!)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Sing thought there was nothing more beautiful than the glittering snow in the street lights at night.

He moved his head slightly to change the angle of his view, watching the shining spots dance around on the white. The night was always more beautiful outside the city, with barely any light pollution blocking out the night sky.

It didn’t matter today, as the sky was covered in clouds. Sing sighed and rubbed his hands together. Fingerless gloves were stylish but not really made for winter.

The platform was pretty much empty except for him and a thin figure at the ticket machine. It didn’t surprise him, it was Christmas time and most people probably spent the afternoon with family. Plus, this station wasn’t really a well-visited one. Sing rarely came here, unless he wanted to visit the graveyard.

Now he was headed back into the city to attend a Christmas party where he barely knew anyone. But that was alright, there’d be food and drinks and it’d be warm. 

He looked up at a frustrated noise coming from the other person. They sounded young, probably weren't much der than Sing himself, and—it didn't seem like they were wearing something warm.

Despite his better judgement, Sing slowly approached the lonely figure. He still had about ten minutes until his train would arrive, anyway.

As he got closer he noticed the pretty face, framed by shiny black hair. For a split second Sing saw fear in the other’s eyes, then his expression turned cold and—sort of arrogant? It was an interesting contrast to the soft makeup and the complicated looking bun his hair was braided into.

“Hi,” Sing said, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Do you need help with the ticket machine?”

“No. I know exactly why it’s not working.”

Sing watched him. He had used the machine a few minutes ago and everything had been fine. “Yeah? Why?”

“It doesn’t work without money.”

Something about the way the other boy said it, something about the childishly stubborn expression made Sing laugh.

The other boy seemed to be irritated for a moment and then decided to be offended and turn away. “It’s impolite to laugh at someone else’s suffering.”

“I’m sorry,” Sing grinned. “Where do you want to go?”

Pretty Boy considered him and Sing knew mistrust when he saw it.

“I’ll pay, come on,” he said. The train would arrive in six minutes—if it was punctual.

“And why would you do that?,” Pretty Boy asked warily. Sing probably would’ve been intimidated or impressed by his glare, if the constant shivers didn’t totally ruin the effect.

“‘Cause I’m nice. Now stop being overly careful, I won’t kill you.” Sing smirked. “Promise.”

“You would not succeed even if you tried,” Pretty Boy said coldly, wrapping his arms around himself.

Sing took pity in him. “Wait,” he told him and quickly took off his jacket. He was wearing a warm hoodie underneath—he wouldn’t freeze all too fast. “Here. Take my jacket.”

“I don’t need your help.” His tone was snappy but this time the longing in his eyes betrayed the other.

“Take it,” Sing said, holding it out expectantly. “And then tell me where you’re headed.”

Pretty Boy glared at him instead of admitting defeat and he kept looking angry as he pulled on Sing’s purple jacket. “Where are you going?”

Sing shrugged. “Hosu City.” He tapped the screen of the ticket machine and smiled a bit. “So?”

“Me too,” Pretty Boy said, tucking his chin into the collar of Sing’s jacket. It was honestly kind of adorable.

“Alright. One ticket to Hosu City then.” Sing bought a ticket, pushing the coins into the machine. He didn’t think Kain or Ink would be mad at him for helping out a freezing stranger—plus the other one looked way too spooked to be used to being all by himself. He had probably never done anything rebellious in his life. In fact, Sing was almost certain that the other had run away from a family Christmas party. Sing was more than happy to help out in that case—anything to destroy a pretend happy family with dark secrets.

Pretty Boy still eyed Sing and the ticket with that wary expression. But there was something else—disbelief. As if he couldn’t fathom anyone willingly being kind to him.

“You can take it, it's not gonna kill you.”

Pretty Boy snatched the ticket out of Sing’s outstretched hand and pointedly looked into a different direction. Sing couldn't believe the stubbornness of this boy!

He glances at the clock. Two more minutes. Despite his curiosity Sing didn't want to ask the other how he happened to end up here without a jacket, without money and his hair braided like that. Like he ran straight out of a fancy ass party. 

“Do you like to read books?,” Sing asked after a moment. He figured that couldn't hurt to ask. But apparently Pretty Boy took everything as a personal insult. Almost as if he thought Sing was constantly judging him.

“I also like reading other things,” Pretty Boy said and it sounded like he thought Sing was stupid. 

“That's cool,” Sing told him. “I don't like reading.”

He watched amused as Pretty Boy indignantly tried to say something but ultimately decided not to. The struggle on his face followed by more pouting was the exact reason Sing decided to continue being _a little shit_ as Kain would probably call it. 

“What else do you like doing?”

Pretty Boy apparently chose to ignore his questions now, as he turned away and ducked his face into the hood of Sing’s jacket. 

It didn't matter, Sing counted it as a win anyway. Pretty Boy _did_ wear his jacket after all and Sing was certain that he counted that as a loss. Accepting help from someone smaller and probably younger than him. So, in Sing’s book? Two wins, actually. 

The train arrived loudly. As Sing expected, it was pretty empty and no one got off at this station. 

He stepped into the wagon and moved to one of the four seaters, assuming Pretty Boy would follow him. Sing didn't know _why_ he assumed that, since there was no real reason for them to stick around each other, but it seemed like Pretty Boy also considered it unspoken law to stay around him.

Sing put his feet up on the seat next to Pretty Boy and leaned back. 

“Don't you have manners?,” the other asked, looking at Sing like he's a heathen.

Sing grinned at him. “No.”

“You're the worst,” Pretty Boy stated, crossing his legs. He looked so posh. Rich family's golden kid, Sing figured. He wondered how difficult this situation was for him.

“I'm well aware. I find people think it's charming,” he shrugged.

“Well, it's not.”

Sing watched Pretty Boy, who happened to glance at him with that stubborn expression that told he would prefer to be anywhere except with Sing right now. When Pretty Boy noticed Sing staring back, he turned his head to the window—he did it swiftly, his hair falling into his eyes, because he couldn't do it like a normal person—and stared out into the dark. (Though, _staring outside_ probably wasn't the right way to describe it—it was more of a _staring at your own reflection_.)

“Do you often wear makeup?” It looked very good and professionally done, which either must be from experience or someone else helped him put it on.

Pretty Boy moved his head slightly, but other than that Sing got no reaction. 

“It's really well done, that's why I ask,” Sing went on. “Makes you look feminine though. Is that a style you like?”

“It's what my brothers like,” Pretty Boy muttered. 

Sing tilted his head a little. “Well, you should try a style _you_ like,” he shrugged. 

He saw the other's eyes widen and Pretty Boy reached up to the strand of hair framing his face, lightly tugging at it. “No one ever said that to me.”

“That's unfortunate,” Sing shrugged, closing his eyes halfway. He was still interested in observing the other—he was incredibly fascinating. 

As a voice announced the next stop over the speakers, Pretty Boy flinched, finally looking away from the black window. 

“It's not Hosu City,” Sing said. 

Pretty Boy nodded and his face relaxed a little. Sing wondered where he was headed—he knew that the other likely didn't have a plan, but he figured he'd pretend to have one, just so he didn't have to take more of Sing’s help. And that was totally fine, Sing wasn't sure how he'd explain it to his guardians, that he picked up a stray this time. They couldn't just spontaneously take him to the company's Christmas party—or could they?

“You're pretty tall, you know?,” Sing said, and he started to be concerned because it was _really_ hard to look away from Pretty Boy. Maybe that had something to do with his quirk?

“You're just shorter than average,” Pretty Boy muttered. 

Sing frowned. “Hey! I’m _not_ short!”

“Oh? What would you call your height then?,” Pretty Boy asked, a challenging expression in his face.

“Well—not short.” Sing glared at him, but Pretty Boy just stared back and it began to be really awkward how often they did these staring contests out of nowhere.

Maybe it was time for Sing to reconsider his decision to help others. (He didn’t _actually_ regret it though—who would’ve expected this day to turn into such an interesting adventure?)

“You’re childish,” Pretty Boy said, lifting his chin. He didn’t quite sound like he minded it much though.

“Oh, yeah? Bold words for someone who would’ve preferred to freeze to death instead of taking help from a stranger.”

Pretty Boy actually made a _“hmph!”_ sound, so Sing stuck out his tongue and turned away.

Stubborn bastard.

Unfortunately, Sing had little to no patience and he couldn’t deal with the silence (although it wasn’t technically uncomfortable or awkward), so after a few minutes, he turned back to Pretty Boy—who he was entirely content not knowing the name of—and nudged the side of his thigh with his foot.

The reaction was satisfying: Pretty Boy swirled around and glared at him, but Sing didn’t feel threatened. (He probably should have.)

“What?,” the other snapped, pushing Sing’s foot off the seat.

“Nothing,” Sing said, smiling at him innocently. It was way too much fun to see the other get riled up because of harmless mockery.

“You’re annoying.”

“Good. I try really hard to be.” Sing smirked, basking in the gratification of Pretty Boy’s irritated expression. Yup, this was _way_ too much fun. The other seemed to start realising that Sing would always manage to win their small banters and it seemed to piss him off to no end.

Sing _loved_ it.

The train stopped at the next station and Pretty Boy looked up at the sign to see if it’s Hosu City this time. Sing didn’t have to check, he knew the number of stops before he had to get off—five.

“Hey,” Sing said, grinning brightly as Pretty Boy glared at him with the most annoyed expression Sing had ever seen anyone wear. “What’s your favourite food?”

Pretty Boy’s face darkened and the stone-cold expression settled back on his face. “What does it matter?”

Sing shrugged, choosing to ignore the other’s mood. “Surely you have a favourite food.”

“I don’t.”

“Why?,” Sing asked curiously.

“You’re not really picking favourites of something that’s being used against you.” Sing watched the other and when Pretty Boy looked back at him (again), he pulled his face into something unreadable and hid behind Sing’s jacket.

So Sing decided to take on the conversation himself again. “Well, I used to avoid eating. Food is expensive and I’d always keep it for a worse time, you know? Just in case.” Sing shrugged. “But now I live with someone who actually earns a steady income and is incredibly persistent on me eating a lot.” He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t mind it much—Kain was a nice person and a decent cook, and Sing would be lying if he said he didn’t like eating his food.

“Anyway, does that mean you’re a picky eater?”

Pretty Boy frowned at him ever so slightly.

“You certainly seem like the person to be,” Sing shrugged, enjoying the way Pretty Boy’s face heated up as he tried to defend himself. It was really funny to watch him struggling to come up with a snappy answer, but all he did was sputtering indignantly before resigning and pulling the collar up his chin.

Sing really should not be enjoying it this much, but here he was.

The train stopped again and a few more people stepped on. Sing watched them out of the corner of his eyes, hands still in the pocket of his hoodie. Pretty Boy turned his face away, seemingly slouching into the seat. It was a classic attempt at making himself as small as possible, so he seemed to be wary and uncomfortable around strangers… Sing noted it.

Sing slowly took his feet off the seat next to the other as an old lady pointedly stared at him (probably thinking how the youth had no manners.) He didn’t miss the flash of fear in Pretty Boy’s eyes as he did though, and something inside of him twisted.

Pretty Boy trusted him. For some reason, despite all the mistrust and ignoring, he felt safer with Sing in this train. 

Sing had absolutely no idea what to do with that information, so he chose not to dwell on it.

“Do you have a favourite book?,” Sing asked quietly. Pretty Boy looked a bit spooked, still, but slowly moved to meet Sing’s eyes.

“I like reading about plants,” he said after a moment.

“That’s cool,” Sing smiled. “I don’t find them very interesting.”

Pretty Boy narrowed his eyes at him. “How unfortunate,” he said, his voice calm but there was some venom behind it. Sing smiled satisfied. _Now_ things were getting interesting. Pretty Boy was an intriguing person and Sing was just about to learn even more about him. He was enthralled.

“Truly,” Sing said, unbothered. He still wasn’t scared of the other, which was weird because he felt like he really should not be as calm as he was.

But Pretty Boy, for all the good looks he might have, was rather thin and seemed almost fragile. Sing was certain he’d win in a physical fight without much effort, but he didn’t really feel like proving that.

“What’s your favourite plant then?,” he asked, tilting his head and leaning it against the seat next to his.

“I like yellow oleander,” Pretty Boy said and Sing was genuinely surprised to get a direct answer. “But mandrakes are also pretty badass.”

Sing grinned. “That’s an interesting description for a plant.”

“I suppose.” Pretty Boy watched him attentively and it felt weird to be on the receiving end of such piercing glances. Sing didn’t let it show though—that’d be the last thing, showing discomfort or that he might be intimidated by the other.

“How old are you, anyway?” Sing tried to sound bored, like it didn’t really matter, because, if he was honest, it _didn’t,_ but he was curious anyway. It was hard for him to tell, but Pretty Boy might as well been the same age as Ink and Kain, judging by the way he looked. (Not the way he acted, though, which is why Sing assumed him to be the same age as himself.)

“I don’t think that concerns you,” Pretty Boy said and his voice had that posh tone, all _none of your business_ and _don’t bring it up again._

Sing figured that was that, and accepted not getting an answer.

The static voice over the speakers announced the next stop. Sing looked out of the window as the train drove into the station. The platform was graciously lit and filled with people. When he looked over to his companion, he didn’t have to guess whether or not he _really_ did look paler—his discomfort was clear in the way he made himself smaller, ducking his head into the jacket like he had done a countless times on this ride. 

As expected, the people boarded the train like a tidal wave and it didn’t take long for most of the free seats to be filled up. Sing noticed the panic settling into Pretty Boy’s eyes and moved over onto the seat next to him swiftly.

There was a second in which Sing saw the relief wash over the other’s face, but instead of gratitude the other frowned, seemingly offended. Sing didn’t care.

When the train moved again, the two seats in front of them were still empty, but Sing knew they wouldn’t be as lucky at the next station. He put his feet up on the seat he was sitting on just a few minutes ago, and this time Pretty Boy didn’t comment on it.

“So… what's your favourite animal?” Sing rested his head against the headrest of his seat and looked at the other and—God, he really needed to stop doing that. 

“I'm quite fascinated by butterflies.” 

Sing nodded. “I can understand that. They're pretty.”

Pretty Boy seemed pleased with himself to have Sing admit he's right. “Indeed. I used to collect them.”

Sing’s smile didn't waver. “What.”

“I preserved them. I pinned them on display plates with the name of the species written underneath.” He sounded so proud that Sing couldn't help but be interested. 

“Did you have many?”

“Quite a few rarities amongst them,” Pretty Boy nodded. “What's your favourite animal?”

Sing was so perplexed by the fact that they just held a longer conversation, that the other actually told something about himself without prompting. “Huh?”

“Your favourite animal,” Pretty Boy repeated, sounding annoyed. Sing didn't blame him, this time.

“Oh, I like dogs.”

Pretty Boy gave him a weird look. “It doesn't surprise me.”

Sing chose to take it as a compliment. (It probably was one, anyway.) “We have a bunch of dogs at home,” he told Pretty Boy. “And cats. I like the cats a bit more, usually.”

He looked over to Pretty Boy who was listening quite interested. _Huh._

“My guardian's collect strays, honestly.”

“So that's why they have you,” Pretty Boy said nonchalantly. Sing blinked and for a moment he saw the shadow of doubt cross the other's face. Then he grinned a bit.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded, because it was true. 

Pretty Boy looked at him, his own expression extremely hard to read, so Sing didn't even try. He was too tired anyway. When he thought about having to attend that party… he'd rather spend more time on the train with Pretty Boy. The company was soothing and casual. There were no expectations between them. Hell, Sing didn't even know if they'd ever see each other again. It was _nice._

(He really hoped they'd meet again, though.)

Sing felt Pretty Boy twitch next to him when they reached the next stop. It'd be the last before they had to get off. Few people got off, but a lot of people came into the wagon. When an older man approached their seat, Sing reluctantly pulled his feet back to himself to make some space. 

The man sat down across from Pretty Boy, who seemed to disappear even more into the jacket Sing had borrowed him, if that was even possible. 

Sing slowly took off his gloves in the pocket of his hoodie. Just in case he'd have to use his quirk. 

It didn't take long until another person approached them and sat down on the remaining seat. He was younger than the first man, but still way older than Sing and probably even older than the flame alchemist. Sing eyed him warily. He didn't trust tall people, especially not if they smiled friendly and had conventionally attractive faces framed by long hair. Something always struck him the wrong way about those.

Sing bumped his knee into Pretty Boy’s leg casually. There was barely any visible reaction from the other, except for his eyes darting over to meet Sing’s in a quick glance. Pretty Boy had taken note of his feeble attempt at comforting. 

They'd be fine, Sing thought. They'd get off at the next station and the way barely lasted ten minutes. 

Ten minutes could be a really long time, he realised a few moments later.

The atmosphere was _weird_ and Sing was overly aware of Pretty Boy’s discomfort and yet unable to do anything to ease it.

Sing squeezes the gloves in his pocket and he really hoped he didn't accidentally cut them with the blades in his palms. His quirk might be cool in action, but it had its annoying drawbacks. 

He wondered what Pretty Boy’s quirk was. He wouldn’t ask—he had made sure not to ask anything _too_ personal, to avoid the quite obvious topic: Why the hell someone like him was all alone on Christmas. Or, if Sing's assumptions were true, why the other had run away from home.

It wasn’t that Sing wasn’t extremely curious (he was), but he tried to make sure the other didn't _actually_ feel uncomfortable.

Even if Sing was great at teasing, he knew when he was taking it too far and he had cautiously balanced that thin line all evening. But it had paid off, as taking care mostly did. 

Pretty Boy hadn't moved at all since they got company, and he'd been watching the men warily through his lashes, but other than that he seemed _okay._

Maybe he was just generally uneasy around strangers. Sing couldn't blame him.

The same monotonous voice announced Hosu City and Sing got up from his seat. He stood for a few seconds too long before moving, because Pretty Boy needed a moment to understand the situation. 

Had he been afraid Sing was simply leaving? Maybe he was too caught up in his thoughts to hear the announcement.

They weren't followed when they made their way to the door and neither of the men got off at the station with them. Sing was glad about it, more than he'd admit.

They stood by the side as the train drove away and the platform slowly cleared, leaving them standing in the light as the only people. 

“So…,” Sing started. He wasn't sure if their ways would part here. “Do you want to come home with me?”

“No.” Pretty Boy sounded so sure, despite the clear uncertainty in his eyes, that Sing didn't push. They'd probably meet again, if they both stayed in Hosu City.

“Okay.” Sing frowned to himself. “Do you have a phone?”

“No.” Pretty Boy wrapped his arms around himself. “Don't you have to be somewhere?”

Sing wasn't sure if he asked because he was genuinely interested or because he simply wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. 

He nodded. “Right. Well, then! It was a very interesting trip.” He grinned and put his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Have a nice Christmas.”

“You too.” Pretty Boy’s expression was once again shut off behind a neutral facade.

Sing smiled at him and started walking away, towards the exit of the station. 

“Wait, your jacket—” Pretty Boy was about to take it off, but Sing shook his head.

“You can give it back to me the next time we meet.”

Pretty Boy stopped, staring at Sing. A small frown appeared between his eyebrows. “But… how will I find you?”

“You'll find me,” Sing grinned and waved at him as he hurried off.

“Wait! I don't even know your name!,” Pretty Boy called after him almost desperately. 

But Sing was already too far away to turn back around.

**-X-**

“Where's your jacket?,” Ink asked, crossing their arms. Sing cradled his fingers through the fur of the black cat.

“Gave it away.”

“Gave it away? To whom?”

Sing shrugged. “A random boy I met on a train.” 

Kain looked at him, still struggling to tie his tie. “Was he cute?”

“Yeah.”

“It's always a good idea to give cute people your jacket,” Kain said, smiling a bit.

“It's stupid,” Ink muttered, moving over to help Kain with his tie. 

“Bold words for someone who uses their boyfriend's hoodie as a vigilante outfit.”

“Not my fault you bought it two sizes too big.”

Sing rolled his eyes. “I'm gonna go and grab a different jacket.” 

He did hope to get his nice purple one back someday. It would be nice. But if it kept Pretty Boy warm for the time being, Sing was good without it.

“Good, we'll leave in a bit,” Kain told him.

Sing had absolutely no intention going to the agency's Christmas party, as he knew no one there, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He reminded himself of his earlier point—there'd be food and snacks. And maybe that boy with the split coloured hair he met at the mall a few days ago. Somehow Sing had the feeling he wouldn't be the only one feeling lost there. Maybe it wouldn't be _all_ too bad.

**-X-**

Snow season reached its peak in February. Sing watched the snowflakes cover the windowsill in utter fascination—it wasn’t that he had never seen it before, he simply started to zone out after a moment. 

The soft sound of pencils scratching over paper filled the otherwise quiet room. Sing rubbed his neck and stretched a little, turning his back to the window. 

The cafe was pretty much empty at this time, save for one of their regulars, a middle school kid, working on their homework on the couch in the corner. 

Sing pushed himself away from the window and made his way into the kitchen. As expected he found Ink scrolling through their phone instead of actually cooking. He knew they were hoping for something to happen and a chance to be active as a vigilante again. 

“Hey,” he said, opening the fridge. Sing grabbed the plate with the youkan pieces.

“Hey, don’t eat that,” Ink warned. “That’s not for you.” 

“I work here.” 

“Exactly. Put it back.” Sing reluctantly put it back. 

“Can I have something else to chew on, then?” 

Ink shrugged. “Take an apple or something.” 

Sing complied as they turned their attention back to their phone. “Nothing much going on out there,” he said. 

“I didn’t expect anything else,” Ink sighed. “Sometimes you really wonder why we even bother opening.” 

“Ah,” Sing laughed. “Don’t let Kain hear that. He’d be afraid you lost your purpose in life.” 

Ink huffed, but a smile appeared on their face. “We don’t want that.” 

Sing slightly loosened one of the knives in his palm and cut off a slice of the apple. “Do you want a piece?”

“No, thanks.” 

He shrugged. “Alright. I’ll go back to watching the snow, or something.” 

“Okay.” Ink saluted. “Ask Near if they need help with their schoolwork if you’ve got nothing to do.” 

“Sure.” Sing smiled and left the kitchen. 

He slowly ate his apple, glancing over to Near. The kid caught his glance and shot him one of their brightest smiles yet. Sing always felt especially touched when they did that. Nothing felt nicer than a child’s smile, no matter how old they were. It’s like being chosen. 

The cold gust of wind hit Sing’s face as the door to the cafe opened. Sing closed his eyes against the piercing cold and shivered involuntarily. 

A very familiar person was standing in the entrance, face hidden behind the colour of the beige coat. His long hair seemed tangled from the wind and the familiar stranger, obviously none other than Pretty Boy himself, made an annoyed noise as he pushed a few strands out of his eyes. 

“Hello,” Sing greeted cheerfully and grinned as the other froze in his movement.

“What are you doing here?,” Pretty Boy asked, the suspicion audible in his voice.

Sing smirked. “I work here.” He relaxed his shoulders and put his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It was a very nice jacket and absolutely nothing in the world could make him give it to Pretty Boy as well. 

Luckily it appeared that he had learned that the cold weather required a jacket and judging by the looks of the coat, Sing assumed the other wasn’t too bad off anymore either. 

A part of him was relieved to think about it.

“How can I help?,” he asked, tilting his head. Pretty Boy still seemed caught off guard, but to his credit he collected himself rather quickly and folded his arms in front of his chest. 

“I was told this place could help me.”

“Surely can! Would you like something to drink?” 

Pretty Boy hesitated. “What kind of drink would that be?” He eyed the cafe almost curiously. 

“I don’t know, tea or coffee or… whatever you’d like, honestly.” Sing shrugged and turned around to the kitchen. “Sit down somewhere, if you want.” 

“I’d like some tea, please,” Pretty Boy said, sounding polite. Sing frowned as he walked back into the kitchen—Pretty Boy seemed way more composed today than he did two months ago. He figured time made a difference—who knew what he’d done and where he’d been since their first meeting. A lot had happened for Sing, too, after all.

“I heard a new guest coming in,” Ink said before Sing had really set foot into the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah. Remember that boy from Christmas? The one I lend my jacket to?”

Ink smirked and leaned over the island counter. “Indeed I do. Did he come to bring it back?”

Sing shrugged as he retrieved a mug from the cupboard. “I don’t think so. He didn’t have it with him.” 

“Well, maybe he doesn’t think he has to give it back.” Ink watched him as he pondered over the tea choice. “Black tea is probably a good idea.” Sing agreed and put a teabag into the mug.

“I'm gonna need my jacket back _someday_ —I only have one left.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “But I can't just _tell_ him that.” 

Ink shrugged. “That's something you should talk about with Kain. He's the one giving away clothes.”

Sing frowned. “But you're the one hoarding them.”

“So?”

“Does he ever get them back?”

“Of course not. What would he do with sleeveless hoodies?” Ink shook their head as if they couldn't believe Sing would ask something like that.

“Well, that's a _very_ weird take on romance,” Sing muttered.

Ink ignored his comment entirely and tapped the counter. “So he’s here for advice. Shall I speak to him?”

“Uh… not yet.” Sing rubbed his neck. “I’ll call you in that case.”

Ink smiled knowingly and turned to hand him the kettle. “Alright, I’ll let you handle it.” 

Sing rolled his face. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“Do what?” They looked at him innocently and Sing groaned.

 _“That._ You’re implying something and I’m not sure what it is.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not.” Ink crossed their arms grinning.

“I’m telling Kain you’re mean,” Sing warned.

Ink huffed in playful outrage. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“I would,” he said as he left the kitchen. He could hear Ink laugh almost all the way to the table Pretty Boy had sat down at. He was looking out of the window, his head propped up on the palm of his hand. Sing was well aware that he was _once again_ staring at the other—it was justified this time, since they were _very clear differences,_ mind you.

For one, Pretty Boy seemed more relaxed. Almost at peace with himself. (Although that might just be a trick of the soft white light from the window. In fact, as Sing stepped closer, he was getting more and more convinced it had just been the lighting.)

“I hope you like black tea,” Sing said as he put the mug down in front of Pretty Boy.

“Thanks,” the other said and he didn’t even sound annoyed. Sing frowned a bit and chose to sit down at the other side of the table. 

Ah, there it was.

Pretty Boy scowled at him. “What are you doing?,” he asked, irritation all too clear in his voice. Sing grinned. A success.

“Keeping you company.” He leaned back and looked at the other. “That’s what we do around here.” 

Pretty Boy pulled the mug towards himself and eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s not poisoned,” Sing said, rolling his eyes. 

“That would be a very bad way of doing business,” Pretty Boy replied dryly. Sing blinked. He hadn’t expected him to have… a comeback. 

Or humour, for that matter.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I suppose it wouldn’t be.” 

They sat in silence as Pretty Boy watched his tea and Sing watched Pretty Boy. 

“You should stop doing that,” Pretty Boy said, meeting Sing’s eyes. 

Sing tilted his head. “Why?”

“It’s… irritating. I can’t tell what you’re thinking and it’s infuriating.” 

There was nothing, really, that Sing could’ve done to stop himself from laughing. Pretty Boy glared at him and it only made him laugh more.

“Would you stop that?,” Pretty Boy hissed.

“I don’t think I will.” Sing grinned at the other, who angrily pushed a strand of hair out of his face.

“You’re very irritating.” 

“I know, I know.” Sing leaned onto the table. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” 

Pretty Boy frowned slightly, obviously surprised by the change of topic. “Really? You told me to give the jacket back next time we meet.”

Sing smirked. “And yet you didn’t.”

There was this string of strangled sounds again, as Pretty Boy tried to come up with an answer. “How was I supposed to know I’d meet you today?,” he ended up settling on. “Did you assume I’d be wearing that jacket every day I leave the house?” 

“I certainly hoped so,” Sing shrugged and winked at the other. It was _entirely_ worth the bold risk as a soft pink colour dusted over Pretty Boy’s cheeks.

“That’s a truly stupid hope,” the other muttered, turning his head to the window in that smooth movement that reminded Sing of a defiant child. 

“But I wasn’t too far off, was I?,” he asked mockingly. 

Pretty Boy huffed. “You’re annoying.” 

“God, I _hope_ so,” Sing laughed, but he didn’t miss the way the other’s expression had changed into something so hard to read and define. It almost seemed like there was a hint of embarrassment on his face.

Pretty Boy slowly lifted the mug to his lips and took a tentative sip. “Have you tried picking up a book yet?,” he asked with an almost judging tone.

Sing grinned. “No. But I might if you recommend one.”

That seemed to actually make the other think, as he considered Sing with a concentrated expression. 

“It doesn’t have to be groundbreaking,” Sing said quickly, because he absolutely didn’t want the other to spend a ton of time trying to think of the perfect book to recommend—the chances that Sing would actually pick it up were slim, anyway.

“The Martian,” Pretty Boy said, tilting his head. A strand of hair fell into his eyes and Sing looked at him, finding himself once again unable to look away. “I actually think you might enjoy that one. It has… a certain humour.”

Sing blinked. He hadn’t expected to get a reason as well. “Uh, thanks.” Now he felt _obligated_ to at least check it out. Maybe he’d go to the library later.

“You’re welcome.” Pretty Boy stroked the hair out of his face. “I should have braided it,” he said, sounding absent. Sing tore his eyes away, feeling his neck get hot. 

Something was very clearly not normal. He has a suspicion but he would not be thinking about it any second longer than necessary, and right now that was no seconds at all.

“I appreciate your patience,” Pretty Boy spoke up after another sip of tea. “Back in December. I was not very talkative.”

Sing huffed out a surprised laugh. “You say that as if you’re now.” 

Pretty Boy frowned at him in that way that showed he had felt insulted. Or, Sing’s favourite expression on his face. “Anyway, I wanted to express my gratitude.” 

Sing grinned at him, which caused the other to pause once again, looking irritated. “What is wrong with you?” 

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Sing said cheerfully. “I just didn’t expect you to come here and _thank_ me.” 

Pretty Boy frowned and then he huffed indignantly. “I changed my mind. You’re a menace.” He turned away and pouted, which was way too adorable for someone Sing felt he should be taking seriously. 

Yet, here they were. They wouldn’t be if Sing took him seriously, so he figured things were fine as they were. 

“Are you excited to see the butterflies again?,” he asked and caught how Pretty Boy’s eyes widened in surprise before he put his neutral expression back on. It was a true shame, Sing liked to see the little signs of emotions on the other’s face.

“Why would I be?”

“You did say they were your favourite animals,” Sing shrugged.

Pretty Boy looked at him, his face unreadable but his eyes roamed over Sing’s face. It was hard for him not to feel uncomfortable under the other’s gaze—it felt so exposing. 

“I can’t believe you remembered that.” He sounded positively baffled and it warmed Sing’s heart at the same time as it broke it a little. Had no one ever shown genuine interest in him before? Had no one bothered to remind his favourite animal or his favourite plant?

Sing waved it off. “It stayed in my mind because you said you collected them and that struck me as weird.” 

Pretty Boy frowned slightly. “Do you consider that immodest?”

“Not really, but it sure seemed like a weird hobby,” Sing shrugged. “I’d like to see your collection though, one day.” 

The other smiled slowly. “If I start a new one, I will show you.” 

Sing nodded distractedly. He hadn’t seen Pretty Boy smile yet and he was quite honestly enchanted. “I’d like that,” he muttered.

Pretty Boy took another sip from the mug, looking outside once more. “Quite pretty, isn’t it? The snow.” 

“Hm?” Sing followed his gaze. “Oh, absolutely. It’s entrancing to watch, isn’t it?”

“As I am, apparently.” Pretty Boy gave Sing the smallest of smiles from the corner of his mouth, but it was more than enough to make his neck grow hot. Sing buried his face in his hands, feeling embarrassed and exposed. 

“Maybe so.” Sing shrugged. 

They stared out of the window for a while longer, watching the snowflakes fall down and melting into the white layer covering the windowsill. 

Pretty Boy kept taking slow sips of his tea and there was a quiet ambient background noise from the couch in the corner. Puzzle pieces being spilled on the floor, moved around on the laminate floor. Sing glanced over at Pretty Boy who caught his gaze and hid another smile behind the mug in his hand.

“I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave.” Either Sing imagined it, or he heard a slight note of disappointment in the other’s voice as he said it. 

“Would it be allowed for me to come back here someday?,” Pretty Boy asked after a moment. 

Sing nodded. “Of course. You’re always welcome to step by.” He smiled. “In fact, I’d appreciate it.” 

The other got up. “Thank you for the tea. It was good.”

“You’re welcome.” Sing slowly stood up as well and leaned against the table. 

“I have a phone now,” Pretty Boy said. “You… asked last time.” 

Sing beamed. “I did! Let me give you my number. You still have to give me back my jacket, after all.”

“So we’ll meet again?” It was hard not to hear the hopeful tone, even if the other was trying to hide it.

Sing smiled as he scribbled down his number on a napkin. “As I said… you still have my jacket. You can’t keep it forever.”

There was a provocative sparkle in the other’s eyes. “Who says that?”

“Me. It’s my jacket—I need it back one day.” Sing handed him the napkin with a smirk. “Until then feel free to find comfort in wearing it.”

He could not have expected the shade of red Pretty Boy’s cheeks turned, almost challenging his eyeshadow. 

“You need to stop saying stupid things,” Pretty Boy sputtered. “ It’s embarrassing.” 

“That’s kind of my brand,” Sing grinned.

“Well, it’s not fair,” Pretty Boy decided. “Usually I’m smoother than this. You should be flustered.” 

“Why exactly should that be?” Sing smiled a little dumbfounded and Pretty Boy rolled his eyes in that kind of elegant way Sing had never seen before. 

“I’m observant. You’re not very subtle.”

It was true, and that _did_ cause Sing to feel a bit embarrassed. He had figured that the other noticed, judged on the way he had acted. Sing blinked as the words set in and buried his face in his hand, accepting defeat. “Ugh—alright. Fine.” 

“Don’t worry.” Pretty Boy smirked, which should be _illegal_ and grabbed his coat. “Your advances have not gone to waste.” 

Sing looked at him before he smiled again. “Well, that’s _great._ ” 

Pretty Boy smiled at him and stored the napkin in the pocket of his coat. “See you around, kind stranger.” 

“I feel like _stranger_ doesn’t really apply anymore,” Sing argued, but Pretty Boy gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Tell me your name next time, then.” 

Sing tilted his head. “Why wait until next time? It’s Sing.” 

“What?”

“My name. It’s Sing.” He smiled a bit. 

Pretty Boy hesitated for a moment, one hand in the pocket of his coat and Sing could’ve sworn he was clutching the napkin. “Nice to meet you, Sing. I’m Yut-Lung.” 

Sing smiled. “Pleasure. See you around.” 

The air was cold because it was winter, but the wind that reached Sing’s face as Pretty Boy—Yut-Lung—left the cafe had a sense of familiarity that tingled his skin pleasantly. Sing found himself wishing Yut-Lung would not give his jacket back the next time they met. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!  
> I still can't quite believe I finished this in under a week? That's real speed for my standards.  
> I simply have a lot of thoughts about Yut-Lung in Sing's jacket.  
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> come and visit me on twitter [@heamptyart](https://twitter.com/heamptyart) to yell at me or [see some snippets of wips](https://twitter.com/heamptyart/status/1358457830810992642)


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